


Insomniac Depths

by Lame_Writer



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Depressing, Depression, I Tried, Insomnia, Insomniac, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, No Sex, No Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Repressed Memories, Self Harm, Trauma, anxious, mentions of self harm, repressed trauma, tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lame_Writer/pseuds/Lame_Writer
Kudos: 11





	Insomniac Depths

TeruTeru was never truly able to sleep anymore, whether it be from stress, anxiety, trauma - never able to pinpoint a reason as insomnia kept him on a tight leash. The times he had fallen asleep were when his body shut down due to such exhaustion taking over his body. He would pace around in his cabin or stare up at the ceiling with his thoughts to tie him down and make him worry. When people questioned his sudden fatigue he would brush it off — not wanting to bother people with his problems and making it seem as if it were a smaller deal than it was, it was getting worse and worse as each day went on. 

He watched the sun rise and set, dripping and painting a new horizon of color - breathtaking in itself, but at what cost ? Was it worth such unintentional self harm ? Was it worth the pain of staying awake for hours, days - at a time ? He would toss and turn to no avail, only wasting more time with the efforts that soon felt like a chore. He would soon start to pace outside his cabin - hoping the fresh new air of the outside would send him into a tiresome mood, only making his mind more active in the process. Holding himself as he walked further and further each night, soon making his way into the academy - as time went on as well, he wasn’t told to go back. He was free to wander as Monokuma observed he didn’t do anything except that — wander, he would soon go back to his cabin on his own so it would be no point doing with failed attempts of doing so, eventually stopping to observe him walk around through the many long halls all together.

He wanted to say he didn’t hear his mother voice when in his insomniac episodes, he wanted to say he never saw a flash of a shadow run past him from the corner of his eyes which sent a paralyzing sense of dead through him each and every-time. He wanted to say he didn’t see a lot of things when he stayed up for longer than 2 days, but that would be a lie — no one had ever asked him why he would flinch out of nowhere, or why he would have increased paranoia after a certain period of time. They thought it was an affect of coffee that stirred in his brain like rusted gears sliding against each other, or wanted to believe anything to put a bandaid over a large wound. Only making it worse as despair that no one truly cared kicked and set in — he isolated himself more with the ongoing months that passed. As much as he hated to, it was for short periods of time before he was dragged back to the group to interact — where he’d act how he would before the insomnia latched onto him like a leech. A nightmare that he was awake to see unfold, to hear the echoing thoughts and memories of his mother scratching at his skull mercilessly. 

No amount of begging could change it, only feeding it more fuel to burn away every spec of hope he had left. The taste of despair mixed with his own ever growing anxious pains only furthered his openness to the night. No matter how hard he would try - it would never work as the process repeated itself even if he tried to break the cycle — it never seemed to be fazed by the attempts. His mind ached in sadness as he thought that everyone kept him around only from his isolation habits - he saw they’d only search for him after a certain time frame had passed and collect him to bring back to them group, he assumed it was out of tolerance and not care. He laid on the ground one night to watch the stars, he couldn’t tell why he enjoyed to enjoyed to watch them, the colors, brief flickers and light through the dark sky that scattered in large numbers. It was something to look forward to. Yet that didn’t stop the thoughts to ring in his ears-tears would flood his eyes as he sat up and cupped his hands over his ears, silently begging for it to end - he hated hearing them, the remembrance that something could’ve happened and he wasn’t there to help, the thoughts fed into the fear and only made the cries worsen. 

He tried to stop the sounds of his shaky, pain-filled breaths however it became harder and harder — as after that dreaded period of time when his mind would be foggy and loopy from his internal punishment of uncontrollable insomnia. It brought back the things he dreaded to remember, only dropping him further down the rabbit hole of despair as he tried his very best to climb back to the top only to stumble and fall deeper down. 

Maybe I deserve this . . . 

He tried to shake the thought out of his mind, now finding himself back inside the dark halls of the academy again — he questioned how he got there but his lack of focus on where his legs carried him when he was dipped into his thoughts had brought him there on instinct, pacing being the only thing keeping him from having another breakdown; and, remembering how he felt himself crack enough to breakdown once before was just another wound to add to his body. He wanted to be free from his imprisonment of wide, sleepy eyes and an active mind that snapped itself awake for too long of periods of time to keep his body awake. Shaky and weak he wanted to just collapse onto the floor and sleep — yet knew his body wouldn’t allow that, it never did. He wanted to open up to someone, he wanted to feel as if his emotions were just as important as the others — and yet he felt as if he was the odd one out, the black sheep, the one who wasn’t able to go to anyone without something bad happening — bottling it inside as he normally did only made it worse for him in the long run but he continued, the only person he was able to go to was miles and miles away and even then he questioned if he was worth her time. It felt as if he was doomed to repeat the stabbing cycle until he would die - the fear that the pain would build up to watch him fall back down all over again.

He had tried to document his hallucinations in a journal, they all were the same yet different - he had tried to repress all the memories, all the paranoia and fears - all the words and actions that had happened. They all use it to their advantage as they toppled over him one right after the other, when he thought he escaped one - in cane another. A fortuitous game that he starred in, he wanted to escape but the only escape he could would be in slumber. Cursing loudly to himself as he tried to kick himself out to no success — only hurting himself in the process, and with each new day rising a new it itches his mind of the reminder that no one would ever want to help him. 

Maybe,,Maybe really I deserve this . . .

He wanted to reject the thought, but his mind had made it obvious that it was working against him in the strike of night, making it impossible to function during the days and nights to come until he was hit with an invisible force that knocked him unconscious, where he could finally rest and the images and voices would stop — but only for a little while. He rubbed his eyes as they drooped but never closed, his vision a haze as he weakly shuffled through the pathway. Finding his body go light and momentarily cold as his vision went black before he hit the hard ground. 

Finally,,Finally I-I can finally rest

The cycle continued.


End file.
